


[C] Trapped

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blood, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Forced Ejaculation, Happy Ending, Injury, M/M, Marathon Sex, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale face the consequences of the actions in stopping Armageddon and escaping their respective deaths. All they can wish for is that Heaven had found them first, because Hell would never do anything so kind as to send a rude note.Warning: Graphic Depictions of Rape
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 149





	[C] Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlooodyMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooodyMoon/gifts).



> Whooo back at it with another commission. Please heed the tags and the summary warning--this is a very explicit rape fic. There is something good to look forward to at the end, though, if you make it! 
> 
> Thanks so much <3 any comments and kudos are appreciated

In retrospect, they should have known that neither Hell nor Heaven would fall for their body swap, forever. Unfortunately, Hell figured out their deceit first. Hindsight was too perfect to be trusted, and all that there was to be trusted, then, was that everything would finish, would go away, and would heal. Everything had to end, and everything had to heal. That was the only part of it that they could hold onto, that they could believe in. If they didn’t, there would go their hope and their ability to move on, when it was over. Oh, how it should be over.

Aziraphale cried out. There were tears streaming down his face, and Crowley couldn’t blame him. It was only the tight bite on his lip that kept Crowley from crying too. There were chains, but they were just for decoration, a physical reminder that they were trapped, as if the burning of demon magic didn’t do that already. They couldn’t move, on their own. Every jerk, every jolt was a thing of magic that shot through them and _forced_ them to move. Without it, Crowley would have surely gone still, already.

He couldn’t bear the sight of what was happening, of what he was _doing_. Even if he closed his eyes, he could still see it all in perfect form. Aziraphale, impaled down on his cock. There hadn’t even been a moment of hesitation, a moment for _preparation_. Aziraphale had been forced to do it, to sit himself down in Crowley’s lap even as it tore and split him open. There was blood dripping down from his hole—a perfect lubricant, dripped down Crowley’s cock as the magic _made_ him work his hips up into Aziraphale. Crowley had tried to close his eyes and pretend that it was something different, but he could _see_ it.

They hadn’t been alone like that for five minutes before another demon had come into their little private room. He hadn’t introduced himself. He hadn’t even so much as _looked_ at them, like they were what they were: real beings. He’d spied the bloody mess between Aziraphale’s cheeks and licked his lips, already palming himself through the tight leather of his trousers. The bulge of his cock showed through in impressive size, hard and eager to get at whatever it was he was planning.

That was when the demon had joined them on the bed—if it could even be called a bed. It was mockingly dressed in white, laced sheets that one might have seen in a wedding suite. The meaning was lost on no one, and it had been just another thing that Crowley and Aziraphale had tried so desperately to ignore, only able to look at each other. The blood that dripped down off of Crowley’s cock, over the mass of his bollocks, and down his taint stained into the stark, beautiful white sheets.

The demon started there, with his tongue over Crowley’s skin. The demon lapped at the blood dripping down, hummed at the sweet taste of it as he followed the line up the shallow bit of Crowley’s cock that he could see. Then, his tongue spread out where Aziraphale’s hole had torn open to accept the size of Crowley. The blood was fresh, there, dripping and warm still. Aziraphale whimpered out when the demon lapped at him, and if either of them had had their arms to use, oh—Crowley wanted to pull Aziraphale into his chest and whisper into his ear that it would be alright, they’d make it through this.

Instead, all he could do was watch as Aziraphale’s tears renewed the longer the demon licked at him. His flesh was already tender, sensitive, and every lap of the demon’s tongue, every drip of his saliva felt like burning Hellfire against the torn skin of him. Aziraphale wished that he could keep his mouth shut, that he could bite down on his lips hard enough to stop the noises, but he couldn’t.

No matter how hard he ground his teeth down, he whimpered and cried out with every swipe of that tongue; that magic around him was making him move, too. He couldn’t catch a break—rolling, now, his hips down over Crowley’s cock, back onto the tongue of that demon. The pain built up more than he ever thought that he could stand, and it was only then that the demon stopped.

“Oh, listen to how pretty he sounds,” the demon said, sliding up the back of him to wrap his arms around Aziraphale. He had one hand, nails and all, grasped over Aziraphale’s left tit hard enough that he nearly shouted. With his other hand, he grabbed Aziraphale by the chin and forced him to lean back into the demon’s own chest. The sudden change of angle had Crowley somehow working deeper, with excess pressure over the rim of Aziraphale’s hole. With that, Aziraphale _did_ cry out. His body worked into a tremble from the pain of it.

“He’s so eager,” the demon continued. “I can see _exactly_ why you chose this one.” The demon’s grasp on Aziraphale’s chest tightened, and Crowley tried as he might to struggle when he watched blood drip down from where the demon’s nails pressed into skin.

“Is there anything you can do to this slut that _won_ _’t_ make him hard, like this? Look at him.”

It was magic. It was _magic_. Aziraphale had to remind himself as he was forced to look down at his own cock, hard against the underside of his stomach. The demon’s hands worked down Aziraphale, nails scraping down the white of his skin and leaving red, angry marks in its wake. With one hand, the demon pulled up Aziraphale’s stomach so they could _all_ see how hard his fat, little cock was. There was a pearly, white bead of precum dripping down. The demon followed it with his fingernail—more like a claw.

“No! No, please, stop!” Aziraphale cried out.

“Loves cock so much he even likes his own,” The demon mused. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Please—” Aziraphale’s voice came out in trembles.

“Oh?” The demon pressed a little closer. His clothed prick rubbed right up between Aziraphale’s cheeks, right where Crowley’s cock disappeared inside of him. Aziraphale bit down on his lips and closed his eyes tight—but he could still _see_ , he could still _feel_. He couldn’t get out of this situation, how bad it hurt.

“I think I know what you want, and you’re begging so prettily for me. Don’t worry, _angel_ ,” where it sounded like spat poison, “I’ll make you feel so good.”

The demon worked down his own trousers, slowly and purposefully so that Aziraphale could feel _all_ of it. When the demon pressed his cockhead into Aziraphale’s cleft, Aziraphale started to cry with a renewed emotion. He knew what was coming; Crowley knew what was coming. There was nothing either of them could do about it, trapped down the way that they were. If it had just been chains, Crowley could have _done_ something, but that magic was heavier than any metal ever could have been.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him, please!” Crowley tried. If he could just free himself, he’d strangle that demon’s last breath out of him. “Me—me,” Crowley breathed. “Hurt me, instead.”

“It’s so cute how you beg for it,” The demon grinned. “But don’t you know that the angel’s the main course, this evening? You’re _predictable_ , Crowley,” the demon mocked. “Raping you would be too easy. Raping your pretty, little angel here, though?” The demon cupped Aziraphale’s face, again, and tilted his head around like he was parading the finer parts of a show animal. “I know that hurts you worse.”

That demon didn’t wait for even a moment before he forced Aziraphale forward for a better angle. He pressed his prick right up against Aziraphale’s hole and pushed forward—the _scream_ Aziraphale let out was bone shattering as much as it was heart shattering. Even where there wasn’t a bit of give to accept the demon, the demon kept pushing forward. He had his hands down there, too, one hand around his cock while the other was over Aziraphale’s skin, pulling at his hole to _force_ it open.

Aziraphale’s body had no choice but to open up under the force of the demon’s hand. He tore and ripped and _bled_ , crying harder with every passing second of it. All he could do was bury his face in Crowley’s chest and pray for it to be over, but it wouldn’t ever be over. The split just kept going, until the demon was fully seated inside. It was a blessing that Aziraphale didn’t _need_ to breathe, because he’d been holding his breath with his sobs since the demon began.

Then, the demon was thrusting. He moved with enough force that Aziraphale’s entire body shook with it, and all he could do was cry. There was more blood—more blood than ever should have been right, but who was to say that the demon hadn’t done something? There may have very well be barbs at the end of his prick for the sole purpose of tearing Aziraphale open from the inside. The louder he screamed, the more he cried, the more Crowley’s face wrenched with his own, specific, special type of pain. The demon _knew_ it, too.

The demon only cared for that. It was the screams from Aziraphale that turned him on more, the horrid look on Crowley’s face. All the demon wanted was his own pleasure, and he would find that in the wretched way that he fucked forward into Aziraphale, each thrust tearing cries from Aziraphale, letting more blood leak from him, down to spatter over his thighs. The _best_ part was the way the demon could tell that Crowley _felt_ good, and how could he not?

Crowley’s cock was just as tightly encased in that heat as the demon’s own, and their pricks rubbed together with each move the demon made. Crowley’s desperate urge to not feel good was admirable, but it was hard not to see it in his face, behind the thin layer of disgust, of pain. Crowley may have wanted to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and soothe him, make this pain go away, but Crowley would respond just as well as anything with a human body. His body _wanted_ pleasure, and his body would take it. He couldn’t deny it.

“Cry louder, little angel,” the demon grunted out. “ _Beg_ for it and we’ll fill you right up, make you feel good.”

Aziraphale’s only response was a desperate cry. The demon reached out for him and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching him back and farther down the cocks stuffed inside of him—Aziraphale _shrieked_ , once more.

“I said _beg_ for it, you slut. You don’t get out of this until you’re dripping in sin. Maybe you’ll _fall_ —that would be an ample punishment for you, wouldn’t it? Watch you fall right here on your precious demon’s cock? You remember that’s what he is, don’t you? A demon?”

Aziraphale nodded hurried, afraid to go without a proper response.

“Look at him,” the demon urged. “He’s enjoying it. He can’t help himself, being a demon.” Then, the demon leaned in close so he could whisper into Aziraphale’s ear. “Demons get off on this. Crowley’s no different.”

A new stream of tears poured down Aziraphale’s cheeks, and he _begged_ just like the demon demanded. He begged that the demon would hurt him, fuck him, _mark_ him. The demon obliged, just like he ought, and made sure to chomp his sharp fangs right into the skin of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale cried out and clenched down around the weight inside of him; it was the first real time that the demon had moaned. Crowley had closed his eyes tightly and sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the jolt of pleasure that shot straight up his spine.

It was impossible. Crowley cried out behind his bitten lips with his sudden orgasm, and the demon followed shortly after. The rush of spend felt like another burning fire against Aziraphale’s fresh wounds, freshly torn insides. Aziraphale wished for every different scenario where he could have felt this, but there were hardly any thoughts behind the pain spreading out through his limbs.

Even in the reprieve of knowing it was _over,_ there was no way to feel happy. The drag of the demon’s cock as he pulled out lit every nerve on fire with more layers upon layers of pain. The demon didn’t stop there; his next move was to pull Aziraphale up just far enough that Crowley’s cock slipped out, already softening, now that it had the chance. They still had absolutely no control over themselves, so when the demon pushed Aziraphale down to his side, Aziraphale fell. Then came a whole new burst of pain.

Aziraphale cried out as the demon fitted him with a rather sizable plug. He paid no mind to how red and swollen Aziraphale’s hole already was; he just shoved it up with as much force as he could manage, and Aziraphale’s shriek reverberated through the room. When the thing started to vibrate, Aziraphale let out another shuddering whimper. There was no pleasure in it, even pressed against his prostate as his was. Maybe his cock was hard and straining, but Aziraphale wanted it to _stop_.

“We wouldn’t want you to leak, would we,” the demon hissed. “Want to make sure you’re stuffed full. As I recall, _gluttony_ is your favorite sin.”

Aziraphale just whimpered in reply.

“And for you, Crowley.” The demon changed his attention. “Looks good enough to eat,” he laughed, running his fingers over the sensitive skin of Crowley’s softening cock. Crowley didn’t want to look; he didn’t want to see his own skin and now it’d gone red with Aziraphale’s blood.

The demon seemed to enjoy it, though. Not just the blood, but the way Crowley grimaced and tensed up when the demon ran his tongue along the length of Crowley’s prick. The stimulation had his cock interested again, and that was the shameful part. Crowley’s body responded to the way this demon lapped blood off of it, but he didn’t want to. Crowley was disgusted, and if he could have _moved_ , he might have kicked this demon right in the jaw and broken his skull. Instead, all he could do was grit his teeth together.

It was made all the worse with the way that the vibrator worked, inside of Aziraphale. It was like Crowley could feel it too, that even in this brief moment where they couldn't touch, Crowley could still feel like he was inside of Aziraphale, violating him like that. It wouldn't be long until it was no longer just a feeling. This wasn't something to just be done once. Even if they wouldn't touch for the time being, there was nothing that was ever going to truly tear them apart. Crowley wasn't going to get to escape the know that he was the one hurting Aziraphale.

“I hope you enjoyed your little moment, there,” the demon said. He waved his hand over Crowley’s now clean cock to create a golden little cock ring, designed mockingly after the ring Aziraphale always wore on his pinky. “You won’t have another.”

The demon left, after that, and even if the magic didn’t disappear with him, that wasn’t about to stop Crowley from _trying_ to do something. Aziraphale had gone entirely pale, and it was hard to ignore the spattering of red between his thighs. He was crying, _sobbing_. Crowley couldn’t imagine how horrible Aziraphale must have felt. He couldn’t imagine the pain, but he still wished he could take it away. If he’d only had better foresight, maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Crowley had always believed that Heaven and Hell wouldn’t be done with them. They’d helped stop Armageddon, the very thing that angels and demons had been working towards for six millennia. It was clear that they would be angry. If Heaven had found them first, maybe things wouldn’t be so horrible. A nice slap on the wrist, perhaps, but not _this_. Demons always liked to have their fun, and this was their fun. They’d been having fun since the beginning.

There had been something off about that restaurant, and Crowley should have seen it coming. He’d let his guard down for a date, a single, little date. He and Aziraphale had been having more of those, lately. Dates every Friday, dates every Saturday. Spending their days together. Humans called that dating, but they just called it _being together_. It was what they did. And that dinner had been so important: their first step. They’d been talking about _this_ for so long, now, that this just felt like a slap in the face.

It had been a whole ordeal. After Armageddon, Crowley had decided to take on another change. It’d been awhile since he’d ventured a look towards a woman, and he’d thought to try it out again, then. _She_ had been the one to suggest the whole _being together_ thing, and the dates. It had worked out rather lovely, with Aziraphale always dressing in his best suits where Crowley matched with her finest dress in return. Even when they had just gone down to a dive for lunch, it had always been an occasion.

Then, Aziraphale had brought up _the topic_. This. He’d wanted to know what it was like to lay together the way that humans did. They clearly had the equipment, or the ability to make that equipment. Aziraphale had stumbled over what he wanted, for fear of upsetting Crowley. She’d only _just_ done herself back up, like this, with finely curled hair and the perfect jut of hip. This all just seemed like an insult to what Crowley had tried to do.

They’d known something was wrong after Armageddon when things didn’t work quite the way they were supposed to. Crowley had tried to keep it a secret, when her powers seemingly just lessened, but it was hard to keep her disappointment to herself. She’d wanted to change entirely, but it hadn’t been possible. That should have been the first clue that something was wrong—when she couldn’t mold her effort to suit her look. There had been times before, in the past, when she’d changed appearance without changing the effort. It shouldn’t have mattered that she couldn’t do it, then, but it did.

Aziraphale was terrified of offending her, when he mentioned just how badly he wanted Crowley on top of him, _inside_ of him. He’d been thinking about it for far longer than any angel really should have, and now, he was bringing it up when Crowley had her own troubles. Being unable to complete her mold had been weighing on her as of late, because she didn’t feel entirely _there_ , and Aziraphale felt like he was mocking her, when he first brought it up.

Instead, Crowley had just offered a smile on her thin, purple painted lips. Aziraphale loved that color on her, and she’d worn it specifically for this evening. For the big talk that Aziraphale wanted to have. And that was his talk, that he wanted Crowley to positively ravish him, to take him. It would be special. It would be their first time. It would be Aziraphale’s first time. And he knew that Crowley would take care of him. Crowley had done this before, and she always looked at him with such beautiful, fluttering eyes. Crowley _loved_ Aziraphale, and he knew that this first time would be something to remember.

Crowley had not only agreed, but she’d thrown a whole stopper in the lady plan. It had taken less than a day for Crowley to return with short styled hair and a nice suit. _He_ _’d_ given Aziraphale a smile and assured him that it was fine. It felt better to _be_ the part than it did to just look the part. As long as his power wasn’t going to work properly, then they were going to make the best of it.

The dates had continued. Then they’d gone to that restaurant. Something had been off, and Crowley should have picked up on it. But he hadn’t, and something they’d eaten had been bad enough to knock them straight out for a day. When they’d awoken, it had been in this pit of a room with a mockery of a wedding bed. Both of them were naked, and it had only taken minutes before that demonic power had taken hold. Aziraphale had forced himself down on Crowley’s cock, no matter the jolt of pain, and the rest had come.

Crowley only had one thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out. “I’m so sorry, angel. I should’ve—”

“You didn’t know,” Aziraphale responded, best that he could through the unrelenting sobs. If he moved, if he didn’t, the result was the same. That plug was inside of him, keeping his ripped hole open. The vibrating caused pain upon pain, and even if Aziraphale was done with the tears, they kept coming.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, again. It was all he had to say. He wanted to take Aziraphale up into his arms and _hold_ him, let him know that it would be okay, but he couldn’t.

“What do you think they’ll do to us?” Aziraphale whimpered out.

“I don’t know, angel. I don’t know.”

They really had no idea what was in store for them. It was nonstop, and it was painful. That demon returned what seemed like every other day, and he always came with something dreadful. There were claws and teeth and _things_ meant for nothing more than torture. There were welts bubbling up red on Aziraphale’s back from when he’d been whipped; Crowley had been forced to watch every second of it, from below Aziraphale. Aziraphale had been seated in his cock the entire time of the whipping, and only when it was done were they moved. Crowley was then pressed right up against Aziraphale’s back to fuck him. There wasn't a single second where they were allowed to be apart, even if it was just in feeling. Something was always, always fucking—but it wasn’t that.

It was rape, wasn’t it? Aziraphale didn’t want this. He certainly hadn’t wanted them pressed so close together that every move Crowley made aggravated the bleeding marks on his back and covered them both in blood. If Aziraphale were human, he would have surely found relief in death, by now, for the blood that he’d lost. But he was an angel, and he could keep going as long as the demons wanted him to. They didn’t want this to stop, not even for a moment.

When they weren’t being forced to fuck, when it wasn't Crowley being forced to move his hips without stop, Aziraphale still had would have no reprieve. The first time, the plug had been fun, but it had been for one time. Now, it was Crowley only who kept him plugged, where they weren't allowed away from each other long enough for even a breath. Crowley's own cock left inside of Aziraphale, no matter the position, no matter the discomfort. Since the first time, Crowley hadn’t come once. That cock ring stayed, and was often accompanied by a vibrator of it's own that rested right at the head of his cock. It pressed right up against Aziraphale's prostate, and Aziraphale would come and come again. His prick wasn't the only place that leaked. The fluids that dripped out of Aziraphale's hole were mostly blood and that other demon’s spend, when he came back to toy with them. He’d made Crowley watch, once, as he pounded into Aziraphale from behind with claws dug into his thighs. Aziraphale’s skin was thrashed, and his breathing ragged.

For it all, Crowley still hadn't been away from Aziraphale, in that moment. The demon didn't care how much pain he would cause, only that he would cause it. Crowley had still be seated flush inside of Aziraphale when the demon had come. He'd only kept Crowley still to make him to watch, but the feeling was ll the same: ripped wide on two cocks and not enough preparation.

That carried on for _weeks_. The demon would return with his knives and his flogs and his spikes. He would leave them both beaten and bruised; Aziraphale was always significantly more hurt. There wasn’t a moment of those weeks where they were given a rest—not even a wink of sleep. There was always stimulation, the raw and painful kind where the very feeling of sinking into Aziraphale _should_ have been wonderful and loving, but it left Crowley feeling torn and horrible.

His cock was too sensitive, almost ripped raw with the force and the pressure of it. Aziraphale was never given even a moment to heal, and each time Crowley was forced inside of him, all of his wounds tore right back open and left it all a bloody, awful mess. There wasn’t a thing Crowley could do to comfort him but try to tell him it would be alright—this would be over, eventually. They’d find a way out of this, or the demons would get bored and let them go free. The words had meant something on the first day. Now, weeks later? The words meant nothing, and it was like Aziraphale wasn’t there at all.

He was slipping away, and that wasn’t something the demons were about to allow. It wouldn’t be _fun_ if Aziraphale just slipped out and let things happen to him. That wasn’t the point. The point was to positively ruin whatever positive experience they’d ever have together. They’d never be able to touch each other without thinking of this. Aziraphale would _fear_ Crowley’s touch, thinking back on the times that Crowley had raped him and raped him again. Crowley wouldn’t even be able to _look_ at Aziraphale without thinking of how he hadn’t been able to protect him, how half the pain he bore was Crowley’s own fault.

They’d both lost track of time, entirely, when something new happened. That demon returned, but he didn’t bring any implements of torture with him. Instead, fully dressed and looking rather bored, he came to the side of their bloodstained bed and looked at them like he was _disappointed_.

“How about we shake things up, hm?” the demon spoke. “Been talking with the higher ups, you know. Punishments are _punishments_ if you weasel your way out of them.”

“Please, just leave him alone,” Crowley pleaded. “You can do anything to me—”

“Boring,” the demon interrupted. “Too eager. Now, what if we were to _promise_ you something?”

There came no response but the sound of pained grunting and Aziraphale’s pathetic whimpers. The demon had walked right in on yet another forced moment. Aziraphale was bent over, on his knees, with his face in the pillows. Crowley was moving behind him, his cock between the raw, flayed skin of his thighs. Nothing about it felt good, but Crowley’s hips kept _fucking_.

“What if we let you go?” the demon asked. “Not free, of course. You’d have to do something to earn it, but if you can, we’ll send you right back up to that stupid little bookshop and leave you alone. For good, this time.”

Crowley didn’t believe that. Demons were good at lying, and this demon wouldn’t be any different. There was no reason that they had to believe anything he said, but it was a _chance_. It was the slightest bit of hope that, if that demon was telling the truth, they could get out of here. They could go home and start the recovery, however long it would take. Better to get started sooner as opposed to later. Crowley could already see the days they could spend working on healing one another—the first step to being _okay_.

“What would we have to do?” Crowley bit out between thrusts.

“Simple. We just pop the magic off, real easy like, and you rape your little angel proper.”

Crowley gulped, a refusal on his lips. He wouldn’t do that—never on purpose. But he hadn’t a single chance to argue.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped out. “We’ll do it—anything, please, just let us go!”

“Aziraphale—” Crowley tried to put a stop to it, but Aziraphale just shook his head. It was their only chance. Aziraphale had been _suffering_ , and if the only way to escape that was something that horrific? He’d go through it, once more, if it meant they could leave.

“Wonderful,” the demon smirked. “Now, you know this is a two-way street. If you two try to get out of this, well,” the demon stopped short to produce what looked like nothing more than a metal bowl. He sat it on a side table and flicked his fingers.

A roar of hellfire flared up in the bowl, a threat. If they backed out of this, now that the pact was made, hellfire would be their end. And it wouldn’t even be _their_ end. That wasn’t the entirety of the threat. It was a silent reminder that the demons knew how important Aziraphale was. What a punishment it would be for Crowley to live in a world where Aziraphale didn’t live. A worse punishment than destroying them both would clearly to be only destroy one of them, and Crowley wouldn’t recover either way.

“We’ll be watching,” the demon reminded, a sly grin on his face. He left the room, then, and the door clicked shut.

The magic didn’t disappear until they were entirely separated from each other, on opposite sides of the bed. It wouldn’t be so easy. They wouldn’t just lose the magic and get to continue where they were. This had to be real, authentic. The demons would be watching, and if it wasn’t _exactly_ what they’d promised, then it was hellfire and no freedom.

They still didn’t move. They just stared at each other, feeling the first taste of rest since this had begun, weeks ago. The very thought of having to do this _more_ , willingly, was enough to fell a man to his knees. Crowley could barely pull himself up, but he _had_ to. They had to do this. If they tried hard enough, maybe this time, they could look at each other and pretend this was something they wanted. If they just closed their eyes tight enough and ignored the way that everything ached.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale rasped out. “Please. You have to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Crowley responded, like it meant something. He’d already hurt Aziraphale. He’d already ruined everything they could have had, after this.

“You could never.” Aziraphale gave a weak little smile.

Crowley pushed himself up on wobbly arms, wobbly legs, and crawled over top of Aziraphale. Even with the open gashes, Aziraphale still laid out on his back, beneath Crowley. For the briefest of moments, Aziraphale had his hands around Crowley’s face like they might kiss—but they wouldn’t do something so sacred like this. Their noses brushed and their breath mingled, but that was as far as they went. Without any whispered apology, Crowley pulled back and pushed Aziraphale’s thighs open.

Aziraphale groaned at the stretch of his legs, but he didn’t fight it. He let Crowley spread him open and press between, where even the slightest brush of their cocks together was almost too much to bear. Crowley hadn’t come once, since that first time, and from the constant use, his prick was striped raw. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had been doing nothing but coming with pleasure he didn’t wish to have. Orgasm after orgasm, even where he was sure that an orgasm couldn’t be possible, he came. He was tired, striped, and milked. But they had once more to go.

At the grasp of his own hand to his cock, Crowley hissed in a tight breath. It hurt. He was too sensitive, and even now, there was still a tight hold at the base of his prick where he couldn’t find release. Crowley wasn’t sure how he would have felt about orgasming with this, through _hurting_ Aziraphale. As much as that demon had told Aziraphale that Crowley enjoyed this, he hadn’t enjoyed a moment of it. He was almost glad that there was nothing to show for it, even if this was where it would end up.

The head of Crowley’s cock was pressed up against Aziraphale’s cleft, and he could see how badly it hurt him. Aziraphale’s entire body ached, and he’d run entirely out of tears to cry with the pain that he felt. His cock was sensitive and raw with the number of orgasms he’d had. There were gashes and wounds over the entirety of him, from his chest to the tears in his thighs where the demon had gripped him so tightly while he forced Crowley into him over and over again. The tight ring of muscles around Aziraphale’s hole was ragged and torn, bleeding. He hadn’t had a moment to heal, and it was only by some ironic grace of a demon that he didn’t have a plug inside of him still.

He didn’t _need_ the plug. Crowley was pushing inside of him then, but it was a slow push that had Aziraphale whining out. This wasn’t right. He knew this wouldn’t work. No matter how gentle Crowley wanted to be, there wasn’t time for that. The demons wouldn’t accept it, and if this was their only chance to get out, then they had to do it right. It was a horrid, disgusting thought, that Crowley would ever willingly hurt him, but—it was just as Aziraphale said. Crowley couldn’t hurt him, even if he tried.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale said. “Harder, faster, _please_ , just get it over with.” He was starting to blubber, to cry without tears in his eyes.

“Angel, I can’t—”

“You _can_! Crowley, I promise, whatever you do, you can’t hurt me. Just—please, _please_. I need you to do this. We can go _home_ after this, can’t we? Please, Crowley. Give me your best.”

Crowley hesitated, stuttered, and let out a bone-deep growl. Aziraphale was right. They just had to do this. Rip the bandage off, so to speak. With his growl, Crowley pushed forward until he was flush against Aziraphale’s hips. He forced his way forward, disregarding the way Aziraphale screamed out as every wound reopened, bled, and set flame with the sudden rush of pain. Crowley couldn’t stop. Aziraphale didn’t _want_ him to stop. The look on Crowley’s face was enough to say how much he hated this, but Aziraphale needed him to continue.

When Crowley began to thrust, every inch of movement was a fire of more pain, for both of them. It was dragging at the skin of Crowley’s cock like it would tear it right off, but he kept thrusting. He worked hard into Aziraphale, working hard enough that the sound of their skin slapping together reverberated with echoes. Aziraphale shouted through every thrust, every slap of Crowley’s hips into him, the smack of his bollocks. There wasn’t an inch of Aziraphale that didn’t hurt, but there wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t want this.

Aziraphale could close his eyes and see something different, for the first time, without the magic. He could see Crowley on top of him, his claws dug into Aziraphale’s hips out of _passion_. They’d been wrapped up in each other for weeks, after their first time together. There was such a pleasure to be found with Crowley inside of him, that Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to leave the bed. Crowley obliged him, as he always did, even as they became sore and tired, oversensitive from the rush of it all.

The most important part was, in this little visage behind the dark of Aziraphale’s eyelids, he wanted it. He wanted the rough touch of Crowley’s hips, because it was a Crowley who _wanted_ him, not a Crowley who had been forced to hurt him. This Crowley fucked hard and fast to make it hurt, to _rape his angel good and proper_. This wasn’t a lack of control. Aziraphale wanted to believe that Crowley wanted him so much that he couldn’t keep himself in check—that was an ache Aziraphale would welcome.

Crowley continued. He ground into Aziraphale, had his hands dug so hard into his thighs that bruises rose up under his fingers and gashes came under his nails, but he used his grip to pull Aziraphale down to meet every thrust, forcing him ever farther onto his cock until it was impossible for Aziraphale to take more. With each slap of their bodies, Aziraphale cried out for it to stop. It hurt so badly, but Crowley couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even _touch_ to make it better. If he tried, well, it wasn’t meant to hurt anymore, was it? The demons wanted it to hurt.

There was pleasure building up in Crowley’s stomach, and he hated it. He could feel the crest of it coming, like he was about to finish and mark Aziraphale in the worst way possible. He hated how it felt, how his body reacted. That he could force himself on Aziraphale like this, and his body would react in such a way that it _felt good_. It was so horribly wrong, that it only made sense when it happened. When Crowley’s hips suddenly started to stutter, when he started to cry out in more than just the raw pain of it all.

Crowley was disgusted with himself when he came. He felt the pleasure pour over in himself, and he was suddenly coming inside of Aziraphale. Filling him up with waves and waves of long building seed. Aziraphale accepted all of it, mixed with the blood that dripped inside of him. It was more pain on top of pain, where Crowley’s spend burned his ripped raw skin. Aziraphale cried out and cried out again, when Crowley pulled out of him. Aziraphale, for the first time, hadn’t been forced to come.

There came the sound of clapping from behind them in the return of the demon. He came to mock, to congratulate them on their stunning performance. Crowley made quite the show of it, taking his pleasure of Aziraphale and not having enough decency to slip him a few jerks. Matter as it was, they’d done what they promised. After the word that they’d been down here for nearly two months, there was a heavy magic that dripped back over them. With their exhaustion, there was nothing they could do to fight it.

When Crowley woke next, it was in a sudden jerk of panic. Like it was a dream. But the soreness in his body just _proved_ none of it had been. He was covered in bruises and blood red streaks from claws and whips against his chest, his legs. It hurt to _move_ , but Aziraphale wasn’t with him. Aziraphale wasn’t even near him, where Crowley had woken wrapped up in the silken sheets of his own bed. Aziraphale must have been at the bookshop, and that would be Crowley’s first destination.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as moved. He’d slipped in and out of wake several times since he’d been returned, but he’d never fully found consciousness. His entire body was shut down, working what magic he still had for the sole purpose of healing him. These were the types of wounds that humans wouldn’t have survived, and it was only by the Grace of God that Aziraphale still had, as a creature of God, that had gotten him this far. Now, it was just the length that his body could take him.

Even at the sound of Crowley in the bookshop, Aziraphale still did nothing more than tilt his head towards the door of his minuscule apartment. Nothing more than a bed, an armoire, and a mirror. Crowley was a welcome, new thing to look at in his beige colored world. Crowley, with red hair and a stark black jacket. Somehow, he’d managed to put himself together before rushing over, through the pain that he no doubt felt. He’d still come for Aziraphale and rushed to his side, where he dropped down to the side of the bed with hesitant hands.

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Aziraphale, again, but Aziraphale gave a slow, subtle tilt of his head until he could _see_ Crowley. Then, he smiled, and Crowley’s hands found their strength in touching him. Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, resting his free hand over the swell of Aziraphale’s chest. It was a gentle touch, to not hurt him further. Aziraphale’s smile seemed to grow at the consideration of it, and he wished that he could reach out and touch Crowley, back.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped out. “You’re—you’re awake.” He wasn’t okay. Aziraphale certainly wasn’t _okay_ , but he was here. He was alive, awake, and _here_.

“I’m here, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded. “You’re a sight,” came a weak breath of talk.

Crowley could have cried. For the first time in _months_ , he could have cried. Instead, he buried his head in the space of bed between Aziraphale’s shoulder and the pillow.

It wasn’t perfect, where they were, but they were in the bookshop, and they were with each other. It was better, by miles, where they were, now. With enough work and enough _something_ , the past two months wouldn’t mean a thing. Aziraphale would heal. Crowley would heal faster. And they would find their way back to the Ritz, some day. Maybe this time, Aziraphale would be the one in a fancy date dress. They’d share wine and kiss at the doorway, on their way out, and head home to try their plan again.

However long that would take, Crowley was willing to wait. They both were.

**Author's Note:**

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